Marry Me Or Don't
by CompletelyDone
Summary: It all started out as a game, really. An absurd, heat-of-the-moment game. It was rather simple to be honest. So the first time I asked her to marry me, it was all in good fun. Two-Shot.
1. Chapter 1

**Greetings to all! I just kind of threw this one together. It's a two-shot, and I hope that you guys like it. It's in Scorpius' POV in case you don't catch on.**

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It all started out as a game, really. An absurd, heat-of-the-moment game. It was rather simple to be honest; even that mindless twat Benjamin Barth could understand why it was so entertaining.

I have never been able to see the humor in knock-knock jokes, and I consider pranks to be child's play. Me? I'm more inclined to irony. You know, Healers dying from a chest cold and Aurors who stun their wives, thinking that they're thieves in the night. There's the good stuff.

So the first time I asked her to marry me, it was all in good fun. My Fourth-year mates and I were lazily walking along the halls and it just happened. Call it a stroke of genius, if you will, but it was funny. A Malfoy proposing to a Weasley? Comedic gold.

I remember how red her neck and forehead turned when I shouted at her. I also remember her making some smart-arse comment about how her father would likely chop me to pieces before that would ever happen.

From that point on, I just couldn't let it sit. Every interaction that I had with Weasley- as few as there were- included a proposal. Sometimes I would even profess my love to her in the middle of class when the teacher left; I would climb up onto a desk and ask for her hand in marriage, which she would either accept or deny with extreme vigor and drama. At first, my classmates were either disgusted or surprised, but soon they started to realize what we were doing. It truly _was_ a game. Two players. Both aware of the rules. Both trying to outdo the other. Neither of us able to win.

But while we were in this constant battle of sorts, my life didn't stop or slow down. I joined the Slytherin Quidditch team and was the best player since Harry Potter himself, or so I've been told. In Fifth year, I was recruited to be a Prefect. My three and a half week fling with Gyna Holmes began my vicious cycle of dating half of Hogwarts. And in Sixth year, I was promoted to be Quidditch captain.

So yes, you could say that I was living the dream. I was a Malfoy who had overcome the shadows of his past in order to have a bright future. How poetic. I had even managed to become civil acquaintances with a Weasley.

We were assigned to be partners in Potions, Herbology, and the ever-pointless Divination classes. Basically, my schedule was full of Weasley. I continued to propose to her, though less frequently and far less obnoxiously; it had become more of an inside joke. She would always tease me for being a senselessly pale and unfeeling, and I would mock the flames of hair erupting from her head and tell her to stop being a shameless know-it-all. Some days, I would sit next to her in the library and borrow her Potions notes while letting her steal my Herbology essay. We weren't friends, but we got along well enough and knew too much about one another.

But nearing the end of my sixth year, things changed. Like all teenage boys, I wasn't sure what had happened, or what I had done wrong to deserve what I got.

She'd get antsy when I accidentally brushed her shoulder, she wouldn't look at me when we studied together, and she stopped responding to my proposals. I guess I should have known that my joke couldn't have lasted forever, but I sincerely thought that someday Weasley and I could've been mates or something.

I endured months and months and months of the cold shoulder. Don't get me wrong, life went on outside of class, but I no longer enjoyed sitting next to my fake fiance. It was lonely. I tried to get her to open up to me, but I had absolutely no luck. I missed what I had with her. Whatever that was.

Seventh year rolled around and the cold shoulder continued. We were no longer forced into partnership; she now had her cousin and I had Emma Stockett to keep me company. No, Emma actually bored me to death; seriously, that girl can talk for _hours_. Some days I'd be lamenting my life with Emma in it and look over at Weasley and Albus Potter laughing together. It made my head ache.

Not only that, but my Potions grades were slipping. I blamed Weasley. I didn't have her notes anymore. I was getting more fed up than McGonagall on Valentine's Day. So when I was roaming about the castle on patrol and saw Weasley sneaking down the hallway, I decided to follow her and give her a tasty slice of Malfoy's opinion.

We ended up in the Astronomy Tower somehow. She still didn't know I was there and leaned against the railing. A blank look covered her face and the wind made her wild hair look even more alive. In all honesty, she looked rather stunning. But that could have just been the lighting, of course. Bad lighting always distorts things.

She was extremely surprised to see me, and she was probably a little angry that I followed her. But that didn't stop me from defending myself and speaking my mind. I angrily asked her why she could barely stand the sight of me anymore and who she thought she was to just decide when to give me the time of day. I was just getting to the part about why I had followed her to the Astronomy Tower when something unexpected happened. I say unexpected because it was extremely… unexpected.

All at once, Weasley was pressed against me. Her lips collided with mine, and her arms snaked around my neck. I couldn't have stopped her even if I had tried. At least, that's what I'm telling myself. But I can see how my actions might suggest otherwise. I responded fervently and allowed my arms to enclose her while my hands roamed her back. Eventually, I pressed her against the nearest wall and continued to devour her mouth with mine. Don't judge me. Every man needs a good snog once in a while. And this was more than good.

Looking back on what followed, I can see now how awful of a mistake that I made.

I was breathing heavily, my arms steadying me against the wall; Weasley was trailing hot kisses up my jawline and my mind was completely numb. Then came the awful. I asked her to marry me.

Any normal person would have thought that was a strange thing to say, but Weasley has never been normal. She shoved me off of her like I was contagious. After searching my face, which I'm sure was laced with plenty of regret, she snatched her wand from the floor and hurried from the tower before I knew what to say.

That was the single most idiotic moment of my life. How could I have said that? She thought that I didn't take her seriously or really care about what just happened.

Of course I cared? Right? …Did I care? What just happened? And what was I supposed to do now?

These were all questions I asked myself then, and they are all questions that I still don't have the answers to, nearly two weeks later.

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**So what'd y'all think? Let me know by reviewing/following or hitting that favorite button! I'm just trying to make the second half adequate enough to post, so it should be up soon!**

**Blessings.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello world! Sorry for the delay in this story. I actually have had quite a bit of writer's block with this one, but this is what it came to. I can't say that I'm entirely pleased with it, but maybe (hopefully) you'll feel differently. In any case, don't be afraid of telling me what you think.**

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I asked her to marry me.

Any normal person would have thought that was a strange thing to say, but Weasley has never been normal. She shoved me off of her like I was contagious. After searching my face, which I'm sure was laced with plenty of regret, she snatched her wand from the floor and hurried out the door before I knew what to say.

That was the single most idiotic moment of my life. How could I have said that? She probably thought that I didn't take her seriously or really care about what just happened.

Of course I cared? Right? …Did I care? What just happened? And what was I supposed to do now?

These were all questions I asked myself then, and they are all questions that I still don't have the answers to, nearly two weeks later.

Normally, I would laugh at the irony of this situation. A Weasley had just kissed a Malfoy, and he couldn't stop her.

Fine. He _didn't_ stop her.

_I_ didn't stop her.

Why didn't I stop her?

But as much as this issue has been plaguing me, it isn't as if my life has changed significantly because of it. Same as before, I'm still a Quidditch player. I haven't exactly been at the top of my game recently, but I'm playing nonetheless. I still make it through everything except Potions. And I am still a teenage boy who is young, handsome, innocent-ish, and unaware of what the bloody hell I need to do.

Alright, so my life has taken a beating recently, but once again I blame Weasley. She really has a way of buggering things up.

And possibly the worst part about this whole thing is the fact that I, Scorpius _Malfoy_, cannot get her, Rose _Weasley_, out of my head. Talk about irony. Only I've moved past the snickering and gone straight to being hopelessly mad. Mad for her or mad in general, I'm not sure yet. Just mad. Mad as all bloody hell.

And to make matters worse, she hasn't even given me a single, bleeding chance to say anything to her. Not that I'd know what to tell her, anyhow. But still.

To all of my mates out there who think they know what the silent treatment is, try snogging a girl and then avoiding her afterwards. You may never see said girl again. At the very least, she'll never look at you or acknowledge your presence from that moment on.

That would have been useful advice last spring when Courtney Kane practically dwelled in my shadow.

But I digress.

Do I like Rose? Of course I like her. You can't not like someone who lends you their Potions notes and gives you the best snog of your life. But if I like her, must I also fancy her? To her credit, she's brilliant, sensible, and very easy-going. Not to mention one of the only Gryffindors who ever dared to look at me. Past tense. But I don't see how that adds up to fancying.

I mean, she's generally very fancy-able. If you discount the way that she thinks she's always right, holds her quill wrong, and has red-headed genes that would be passed on to our children.

Merlin. I did not just think that. But the thought of my grandfather's reaction _is_ rather amusing.

The subsequent notion of Weasley loudly giving birth to a shameful generation is not.

Although _giving_ her that generation might be pleasurable.

Damn my male brain. Birds _do_ always say we have a one-track mind; I'm not refuting that very well. No wonder I've been single for the last two and a half months.

Come to think of it, that could be Weasley's fault. Perhaps she was scaring everyone off so she could have me all to herself. I quite literally laugh out loud at that idea. I'm going crazy.

But I stick with it because it's always easier to have a scapegoat.

My thoughts take a moment of silence just as I come to the realization that my feet hurt. Have I been walking this whole time?

I take a minute to observe my surroundings. Where the hell am I?

Red curtains. Red common room. Red hair _everywhere_. Aw, hell.

I barely have time to wonder how I got past the Fat Lady before the flaming heads start milling about like fire ants, shooting me questionable looks, and calling for Rose to come down.

Wait, what?

Before I'm even aware of what's happening I'm suddenly alone in the Gryffindor common room. In all honesty, it's kind of thrilling. The Slytherin boys and I have a rather-large plan for this space, but we have yet to scope it out.

I'm looking around the room in an attempt to memorize the best places to hide dungbombs when my eyes suddenly land on a patch of flaming hair.

She is standing at the foot of a staircase. Her face is nearly as red as her hair, though not nearly as bright, and she is the picture of stoicism. In all honesty, she looks rather stunning without her furrowed brow and ink splotches running up her arms.

For a moment, I almost wonder if her heart is beating as fast as mine. What has happened to me? I sound like a seven-year-old girl.

The silence is so thick that I can barely find enough strength to move. It feels like ages have passed. I don't even know what I'm going to confess to her or if I should confess anything.

Call it an act of God if you will, but something moves me toward her, and I don't even know what I'm doing until I'm devouring her cherry-red mouth once more.

Shoot me or call me Bill if it's not even better than the first time.

When I slow down enough to manage it, I tell her damn it, don't marry me. I don't even know what this is, but it feels _right_ and I haven't slept in weeks because I couldn't get her out of my head.

The words practically fly out of my mouth. It's almost as if I'd been holding them there for some time.

Sometimes I surprise myself.

But I know I've done the right thing. How, you ask? Well, men, if the most beautiful, smart, and talented girl you know suddenly lunges at you and snogs you like magic depends on it, you've done something right.

And now that I think about it, maybe red-headed Malfoys wouldn't be so terrible after all.

But I'm going to save that proposal for when it counts.

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**CompletelyDone**


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